


they say that your demons can't go there

by somethingdifferent



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, F/M, also this ended up with more will graham than i intended whoops, so apparently i can't write abigail fic without a title by tori amos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-02-26 03:18:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2636066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethingdifferent/pseuds/somethingdifferent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You're frightening," she says, and he nods, thinks it means the same thing as <em>you frighten me.</em> Abigail knows it doesn't.</p>
<p>[abigail/hannibal - abigail/will; fairy tale au]</p>
            </blockquote>





	they say that your demons can't go there

A river runs through the woods, and Abigail walks alongside it on her way home. She is followed often, by people and animals and creatures that wish they were people or animals. It's something in her air, her father tells her. Something in the color of her skin or the cut of her dress as it swirls around her ankles or her dark hair. Her steps are light against the earth, as if she must never leave an imprint of her journey through.

To do so would be dangerous, her mother has warned her. Things that live in the woods are always hungry.

 

 

 

 

The man (or animal or creature) that leans against the tree waits for Abigail as she rounds the bend of the river.

"Good day, Ms. Hobbs," he says.

Abigail spares him a glance. Her father warned her about the man who lives in the woods. Her father has warned her about a number of things.

"How do you know my name?" she asks. Her heels have dug into the ground, and she can practically feel the way her satin shoes are dirtying as she lingers. Something could track her from this.

He only smiles.

Even from far away, she can see that his teeth are crooked and sharp.

 

 

 

 

The butcher's son looks at her sometimes, when she goes into the marketplace. He is shy, grins at her and looks at the ground. Her mother told her once they might be married, in a year or two.

Nicholas Boyle looks at her feet and his eyes grow cold. When he meets her eyes again, his mouth is twisted in a sneer.

"What have you done to your shoes?" her mother hisses, her fingers leaving bruises on Abigail's wrist.

 

 

 

 

Her father made a deal, once, many years ago. Abigail doesn't know the details, but she can see the weight of it in his shoulder's when he goes hunting. He pats at the pocket on the inside of his red coat, and paper crumbles under his hand.

She thinks, sometimes, that he wishes she were a deer. Wishes he could kill her and dress her and consume her.

Abigail does not die, but sometimes a girl goes missing from the village and her body isn't found, not ever. Not even in the woods. Not even in the river.

 

 

 

 

"Ms. Hobbs." He nods to her as she passes, and Abigail turns, the toe of her shoes scraping in the mud.

"What are you?"

He shrugs. For a moment, she thinks he must have something growing out of his head. "My name is Hannibal."

Unconsciously, she steps forward. Across the path, Hannibal flinches only slightly.

"You didn't answer the question."

 

 

 

 

At dinner, her father smiles at her over his empty plate, and Abigail wants to throw up, get it out of her system.

She takes another bite.

 

 

 

 

The day is the same as any other, except that this time, Hannibal walks beside her as she travels through the woods. The river is calm today, good for fishing. She can see Will Graham casting his line, up to his knees in water. It's the only time she's ever seen him and not wanted to look away.

"A beautiful day," Hannibal remarks, his voice deep and heavy, thick with an accent she can't place. When she doesn't respond, he leans closer, too close. She thinks he might be smelling her hair. "Do I scare you, Ms. Hobbs," he intones, and it isn't a question.

"You're frightening," she says, and he nods, thinks it means the same thing as _you frighten me._ Abigail knows it doesn't.

It doesn't mean the same thing at all.

 

 

 

 

At night, he comes to her, and he is tall and broad and looming over her bed. He drags her by the ankle to the antler room. She pulls her hand through dark hair, twists it.

At the market, Nicholas Boyle sees the dark circles under her too pale eyes, and he leans away from her touch.

 

 

 

 

"What is wrong with you?" she hisses through clenched teeth. Will Graham won't drop her arm, won't drop his gaze like he normally does. It must hurt him, she reflects detachedly. It must hurt to see so much all at once, the past and the future and the unbearable present.

"Stay away from Hannibal Lecter," he commands, his hands shaking against her skin.

And then the heat of him is gone, and Abigail is alone again.

 

 

 

 

"What are you," Abigail asks, and when he tilts his head, curiosity masking the tension she can feeling radiating off of him in waves, she amends the question: "What are you to me?"

Hannibal looks evenly at her, from her eyes to her ankles and back again. As if she were something to be bought. "Your father and I had a deal. He stole something of mine. I told him that in twenty years, I would take something from him of equal value, and he agreed." He pauses, seeming to consider what to divulge.

"It is a pity, Abigail," he says finally, "that your father owns almost nothing of value."

 

 

 

 

( _I won't_ her father says, his mouth pressed against her hair, his hands around her neck - _I won't I won't I won't let him get you._

Someone pulls back the string of a bow.)

 

 

 

 

Abigail has the woods at her back, a boy at her front, a knife at the end of her arm.

Nicholas Boyle is buried hastily, efficiently. His body will not be found so far along the river, she thinks a little hysterically, not with the snow falling like it is.

There are two sets of footprints leading back to the path, but in no time at all the snow obscures these, too.

 

 

 

 

Will Graham holds her by the wrist and pulls her to him.

"Do not go," he says, earnest, fervent. " _Do not go._ "

She is the first to look away.

 

 

 

 

Be cautious when venturing into the woods, her mother told her. _Things that live there will eat you alive._

 

 

 

 

There is a silhouette against the river, under the wide and relentless moon. It casts a line and the shadow soars, arching over the body in the water, over the water, over the waves. For a second, she glimpses the slow and gigantic shape of a deer walking between the trees.

Will Graham turns to look at her, his eyes meeting hers without faltering.

His hands, she can see, are steady.

 

 

 

Hannibal holds his arm out to her.

After a moment, she takes it.

 

 

 

 


End file.
